Sybil Suspects
by sakurasencha
Summary: Companion piece to Lavender and Hay's "You Can't Fancy Mr. Branson!". Sybil confronts Branson with her suspicions.


_This was written as a thank you for Lavender and Hay's "You Can't Fancy Mr. Branson", which she wrote at my request as a challenge on the Highclere Awards Forum. I gave her any choice and she immediately requested more Branson/Hughes (and really, who wouldn't)! This may not quite count as Branson/Hughes as much as Branson/Sybil, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!_

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><p>Sybil had always enjoyed spending time with Branson. His thinking was unlike any other person she'd ever met, and he challenged her in ways no one ever had before. Long before he first held her hand or they shared their first kiss, she grew excited at the prospect of a long drive, or when fate allowed them a chance encounter in the library.<p>

"Can you believe the nerve of the woman? Absolutely insufferable! Everyday it's the same thing: warning me off of you like some naughty schoolboy chasing after housemaids."

He had _ideas_. He had _vision_. In his bright mind's eye, he saw a future for England without division, without oppression. He could see it all so clearly, and with his words painted such a vivid picture that soon Sybil could see it just as well.

"And the looks she gives me! I can't pass by her even once in the servant's hall without earning one of her mighty glares. As if somehow she should be named my jury, judge, and executioner. Who does she think she is? Certainly not my mother; nor yours, for that matter."

And his passion! Oh, how she loved his passion. He could wax poetic for hours about Mills or Marx, about Suffrage and Socialism, without ever losing the fiery luster in his voice or the fierce glint in his eyes.

"Can't stand the woman! Oh, she makes a fine housekeeper, I'll give her that, but as a person she's absolutely insufferable!"

So many things she hoped to share and discuss with Branson this night, but whatever Sybil's expectations, a lengthy discourse on the transgressions of Mrs. Hughes most definitely didn't number among them.

"Yes, Tom," she cut in testily, her head resting listlessly in her palm, "so you've been saying….for the past hour."

Branson opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it.

"I suppose I have been going on a bit much about her lately," he replied sheepishly. Even as he offered his apology his eyes regained their angry edge. "Not as though she doesn't deserve it! For I can't even be in the same room with the woman without a reproachful look or a stern tongue lashing!"

_Really!_ Sybil thought with a huff. _The Chauffeur doth protest too much!_

There had only been an inkling in her mind when he first brought up the subject of Mrs. Hughes that night, but as the minutes dragged on and he still couldn't seem to let the topic go, that inkling grew to a hunch, and was fast approaching theory. She had a fair mind to tease Branson mercilessly with her suspicion, and felt that it was well deserved after wasting their precious time together on endless ruminations about the housekeeper.

"Tom?" She looked up at him coyly, but with just enough confusion as to make her question seem sincere. "Do you….do you _fancy_ Mrs. Hughes?"

Branson's jaw dropped. He looked at her, horrified.

"Only, you've been speaking about her so much lately," she continued innocently, "and I can't help but wonder. And besides, it's not as though you winked at _me_ on your first day!" she finished indignantly.

Years and years of practice in schooling her features during awkward situations ensured that her inward smile never made an appearance on her face, though it was by far the most difficult scenario she'd yet encountered. Were his ears turning red?

"What does that matter?" He cried angrily. "I wink at plenty of people! How can you ask me something like that? Do I really seem like the type of person who would _fancy_ Mrs. Hughes? Honestly, Sybil, the woman has to be at least as old as my mother, not to mention that she's the epitome of everything I stand against!"

He began gesturing wildly in that manner he had whenever he was giving a particularly impassioned speech.

"What are freedom, and liberty, to a woman like Mrs. Hughes? Locking away the housemaids like they're prisoners, scolding the bachelors as if they've no right to speak or flirt with whomever they please! Is that the type of person I could _possibly_ fancy?"

Sybil stared at him in wonder. "Oh, Tom! You really must go into politics; I'm sure you'll make such a fine politician one day."

"What are you going on about?" he asked. "We're not talking about politics."

"No, not exactly, but I'm so struck at how you've managed such a brilliant argument, with so many wonderful points, and all without ever really answering the question!" she explained in amazement.

Branson was nonplussed, and could only stare at her in shock.

"So it is true," she said earnestly. "I've discovered your secret. I can guess at your silence: you're afraid for my feelings, at being pushed aside for Mrs. Hughes."

He moved forward to speak but Sybil pressed her finger over his lips, silencing him.

"Shhhhh, you don't need to say anything," she whispered ruefully. "It's all right Tom, really it is. You needn't worry about me. You know what a romantic I am, and I would never get in the way of true love."

The look on Branson's face was priceless, and Sybil had to bury her face in his chest to contain her giggles.

END

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><p><em>I had to go back and edit this because I realized I hadn't included the epic first day wink!<em>


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